Puppy Love
by dragonstep
Summary: In which Amell doesn't become a Grey Warden, but an apostate instead, and ends up as the Inquisitor. Cullen has a lot of hurt and fear to work through about his old crush. In the midst of the chaos of the Inquisition, their puppy love will flower once again. (M rating for swearing and smut scenes later on)(Cullen's POV)
1. Prologue: Forbidden Flower

Maker's breath, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

Hair as black as a winter night, she wore it up in a tight bun with a silver clasp to hold it in place. She let it down in the evenings to brush it out. It came down to her waist in gentle waves that shimmered in the candlelight, practically begging him to reach out and touch it. He often watched her brush her hair from his post outside of the apprentice's quarters. Fortunately, his helmet hid his gaze. He felt so guilty, but it was such a little thing. With hair like that, who wouldn't want to watch it be brushed?

What was the name of that fairy tale? Snow White? Well, Snow White had nothing on her.

Bright blue eyes like two crystals set into her pale, pretty face peered at him when her mentor wasn't looking. A slight smile tugged at the edges of her plump pink lips, kept soft and luscious with balm she made from the flowers that grew in the window boxes. She always smelled of lavender when she passed by. She always wished him a good morning. She wished the other Templars a good morning. Some said it back, some ignored her. She was much kinder than the others. His good morning, though, was special. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but she always looked into his eyes, smiling that pretty smile, Maker, she was beautiful, and wished him a good morning as she went about her lessons. He always said good morning back.

Watching her walk was one of his more sinful indulgences, but he couldn't help himself. She would pass by in the halls of the Circle tower, her apprentice robes hugging her form, her hips swaying back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm, her chest bouncing slightly if she was in a hurry. She was delightfully shapely, to put it simply, and he spent far too much time thinking about how well her rear would fit in his hands.

In his defense, it wasn't all horrible sinful thoughts that the Chantry would punish him harshly for. He wanted to trace his finger along her graceful cheekbones. He wanted to hold her slender hands in his own, perhaps sitting by a fire, perhaps in a clumsy dance around a room. She had a small window box she grew flowers in. He wanted to watch her tend to her own garden, and perhaps help. He liked the idea of running off with her, giving her a house off in the middle of nowhere where she could grow a garden and brush her hair in the evenings and hold his hand if she liked. Of course, he knew he could never do that, but it was something to keep his mind entertained during the long night watches at Kinloch Hold.

He was young then, and young men are dreadfully susceptible to puppy love.

He was not the only such man. He often overheard some mages talking about her. Mostly her fellow apprentices, but sometimes full mages as well. Though he wasn't surprised, as she was beautiful, friendly, and quite powerful, it did fill him with a sort of jealous rage that was difficult to quell. He did not like the idea of anyone else looking at her like that. However, he knew he couldn't stop them.

She was talented, there was no doubt about that. She would go through her Harrowing soon. He was chosen to strike the killing blow, should she not make it. He prayed every night that she would. He didn't know if he could do it. He probably could if she became some twisted horror, but if they told him to while she still slept? He didn't want to think about it.

The night before her Harrowing, though she didn't know it, he was on post outside of the apprentice quarters and he could see her sitting by her bunk, preparing to brush her hair. The other apprentices were asleep, so she was illuminated by a single candle sitting on the nightstand beside her. She had her back to him. First, she reached up and unwrapped the silver clasp from her hair, letting it tumble down her back. She took a bottle of water and lavender oil and rubbed some on her hands, then ran her fingers through her hair to get the awkward bumps out. She picked up a simple brush, just plain wood and firm bristles, and began pulling it through her hair. He thought that she deserved a much nicer brush, something hand-carved and decorated like the noblewomen had. She didn't hit many tangles, with her hair having been up all day; the brush simply glided through, leaving her hair silky to the touch. He could almost imagine what it might feel like in his hands if he were to run his fingers through it.

He stiffened when she glanced over her shoulder and into the hall, her eyes meeting his. She couldn't see his face, not through the Templar helmet, but he wondered if she knew he had been staring nonetheless. Of course, the Templars were always watching the mages, but _him_ staring at _her_ was another matter entirely. She got a sly little smile on her face, as if she were keeping a secret, those crystal blue eyes gazing at him. Of course she knew it was him. Even with their helmets, she always knew which Templar was which.

She stood, setting her brush back on the nightstand, and made her way over to the tiny window where her flowerbox was. She took a moment to ponder, and plucked a small flower with rich royal purple petals and a bunch of tiny yellow stamens, he believed it was called hellebore, and held it between her fingers. She looked around at the other apprentices, all of whom were soundly asleep. She approached the doorway, stopping just shy of it, her eyes darting side to side.

He gulped, understanding. He glanced down the hallway, first to the left, then to the right, then gave the tiniest of nods. She passed through the doorway, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest as she stopped just a few inches from him. He wondered if she could hear it too. She spoke to him in a barely audible whisper. "Cullen," she breathed, "I know you probably can't keep it, but…" her free hand took one of his, and he almost jumped right out of his armor. He could hardly believe this was happening. She was taking a massive risk by just talking to him in such a manner, and so was he, by letting her. She placed the flower in his palm. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to calm his beating heart. "Iris?" He felt his whisper was too loud, but it was the best he could manage in the heat of the moment. Her blue eyes gazing up at him held a question. Had she gone too far? Had she misread him? He curled his fingers delicately around the flower, ensuring he didn't crush it, and whispered, "I will find a way. Thank you." She smiled, relief apparent on her face, and bent down to his hand. She pressed her lips to the fingers of his gauntlet. He could have sworn his heart stopped altogether.

Then there were footsteps down the hall, his hand was back at his side, the flower hidden in his gently curled fingers, and she was gone, back by her bunk in an instant, blowing out her candle and settling herself in for the night.

When his watch was over, he made his way back to the Templars' quarters and went straight for his personal journal, used mostly for detailing the events of his watches; he opened to the first blank page. Hunched over the leather-bound book with his back to the door, he took the flower from his palm and smoothed out the petals against the page. He briefly wondered if he should write her name over it. He decided against it. Perhaps later, once the flower was pressed. Besides, he heard someone coming. He closed the book and put it away, putting another book on top of the journal to press it down in hopes of more effectively pressing the flower. He hoped the colour would preserve.

He stripped off his armor, piece by piece, and replayed the scene in his head. Though exhaustion plagued him, he felt alert and giddy. It hadn't been his imagination. She really did favour him. He knew nothing could ever come of him, but it couldn't hurt to dream, could it? He removed his gauntlet, the same one she had kissed, and stared at his reflection in it. He clearly needed some rest.

He laid down and tried not to think about the fact that her Harrowing was that evening. He could never strike her down now.

* * *

It was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he had ever seen. She was so confident and brave, and now she was a full enchanter. He was so proud of her. He knew he shouldn't have such an attachment, Maker, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

He stood at his post outside of the First Enchanter's quarters, keeping an eye out for anything amiss as usual. She would wake up soon, and would come by to get her enchanter's robes. Instead of the subdued blues and greys of the apprentices, she would be clothed in the gold and purple of the enchanters. He thought it would suit her much better.

She did come by, and she stopped to greet him, as she did every time, except there was a new glow about her. "Good morning, Cullen," her voice, like a river flowing through a forest, was music to his ears. "Good morning, Iris," he wasn't wearing his helmet, so she could see his smile. "I'm glad you made it through your Harrowing. I… They picked me to strike the killing blow if… I-it's nothing personal! I would have felt terrible about it. I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I have to do as I am commanded." He was making a right mess of himself, but she was laughing. "It's alright, Cullen, I understand. I'm here now, I survived, nothing to worry about. You've done your duty." He let out a breath, trying to calm himself. "Congratulations," he said, trying not to get lost in those beautiful blue eyes peering up at him through long dark lashes.

"I've heard of the consequences of failed Harrowings," he tore his gaze from hers, shifting nervously on his feet. She nodded solemnly. "I am glad it did not come to that." She shook her head, as if shaking away a bad thought. "I must go. The First Enchanter is waiting for me. Perhaps we can talk another time?" He was far too eager to agree. "Yes, another time." He watched her walk away, smiling over her shoulder at him, and had to force himself not to stare for too long.

Perhaps he should have stared a bit longer. It was the last he would see of her for a very long time.

* * *

She got involved with a blood mage. Jowan, the bastard's name was, always kind of crafty. She didn't know what he was. The whole situation was… complicated. Jowan and a Chantry sister, Lily, were planning to escape the tower. They enlisted Iris's help to break in to the repository for Jowan's phylactery, so the Templars couldn't track him down. She told the First Enchanter of their plans, which probably spared her life in the end. The First Enchanter wanted to catch them in the act so Lily wouldn't get away with it while Jowan was punished, so he told Iris to help them, and he would be waiting with Knight-Commander Greagoir.

That's exactly what happened, except when they were caught, Jowan revealed himself as a blood mage and escaped at the last second. Lily was sent to Aeonar, the mage prison. Though Irving defended Iris, stating that she was acting under his orders, she had still consorted with a blood mage and had broken into the repository, and thus, had to be punished. However, since she was working under orders, her punishment would not be death or being made tranquil. She was put in solitary confinement. It was supposed to be for six weeks.

Then Uldred happened. The Circle fell apart, and no one even remembered she was there, never mind rescuing her. The Hero of Ferelden, as they would come to call the guarded Dalish woman, came and put it back together again. Even with the First Enchanter's rescue, Cullen's trust was forever shaken, and it wasn't until things had settled down and they began counting bodies that he realized Iris was not among them.

When he and the Knight-Commander went to free her from confinement, she was gone. There wasn't a trace of her left.

Of course, assuming the worst, they sent for her phylactery from Denerim. They received word shortly after that it wasn't there. Greagoir was furious, and Cullen was hurt. Was it possible? Had she been… one of them? A blood mage? Had he really been so blind?

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he be so blind to what was right under his nose. Never again.

* * *

He expected her to pop up somewhere. She was always in the back of his mind. But the only news he received that could possibly be related to her was a dark haired mage involved in a Templar raid in Orlais, but this mage had defended the Templars from an ambush, not attacked them. It couldn't possibly be her. Besides, the stories were too vague, just passed along by word-of-mouth. Some Templars were hunting a group of apostates when they walked right into a trap. Blood mages would have slaughtered them if it weren't for a sudden shield that seemed to pop up out of nowhere, protecting the squad of six. The mage revealed herself; she had been following the Templars, and she helped them kill the blood mages. Then she was gone, vanished. Cullen had a suspicion that the Templars let her go after the rescue, if indeed the story was real at all, but stories had a way of embellishing events to make it more interesting.

No, it couldn't be her. If she were a blood mage, why would she help Templars hunt blood mages? So his anger burned on. He was not angry with her, necessarily. He was furious with himself. He felt responsible. He let a blood mage slip away from under his nose.

Then the war started, he joined the Inquisition, and before he knew it, he was in Haven, waiting for the Conclave to bring about a solution, one way or another. It was sunny, though it did nothing to stave off the cold. Still, there was something pretty about the snow on the mountain and the Temple nestled on its side.

Then the mountain was gone, the world shattered around them, and everything changed.

He expected her to pop up somewhere, but where he found her was the last place he would have guessed.


	2. Restless

Maker, they just kept coming.

Cullen was exhausted, as was everyone else. The demons kept pouring from the hole in the sky, the Breach, as they had taken to calling it. Apparently a woman had stepped out of a rift beneath it, the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave. Cullen hadn't seen her yet. She had been taken to the dungeon beneath the Chantry, where Cassandra was waiting for her to wake.

Cullen was fighting for his life.

They had been driven back from the Temple, and inch by precious inch, they were losing the valley to hordes of terrors pouring from the Breach. It had been days. He had lost track of how many. They had lost so many lives at the Conclave, and were losing many more to the demons.

Maker, when would it end?

He had stopped for a brief moment to pray, just kneeling beneath a tree, when he heard Leliana calling his name. He finished his prayers quickly, then looked up. "Commander," she approached, "sorry to interrupt you, but we're making one final push. The woman is awake, and she can close the rifts. The apostate, Solas, thinks she might be able to close the Breach. Do you have enough men to take the valley long enough to get her through? She will be charging with us, and is a mage of considerable talent."

Cullen pondered this briefly. "It… will be bloody, but it will be worse if we don't. I'll gather whomever is left." He set his jaw with grim resolve, grinding his teeth, and sent out his lieutenants to gather anyone still able to walk. He prayed that it would be enough.

He soon found himself surrounded by demons, just outside of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, fighting for his life, forced on the defensive as he faced a rift. A slash to the right, his shield taking a solid beating to the left, he didn't even see the demon emerging from the rift in front of him. Not until it lunged for him. He didn't even have time to blink.

The demon never touched him. A magic barrier went up between them, and a hand gripped the back of his armor, tugging him back. "Defend my back, Commander!" A woman's voice reached his ears as he stumbled around to face the other way, his back pressing against the woman's as she faced down the demons pouring from the rift in the courtyard. There were demons chasing her, but he was quick to dispatch those. He turned back to her as she closed the rift. Long wisps of black hair blew defiantly, having fallen free of a once perfect bun, now messy and scraggly. There was something very familiar about her.

The rift closed completely, and the demons stopped coming, for the moment. He could breathe again. "I'm glad you arrived when you did," he began, "we may not have held out much lo-" he stopped abruptly when she turned to face him, crystal blue eyes meeting his.

Maker, was that Iris?

No. Not her. Not here. How could it be her? Did she do this? Was she the cause?

Had he let this happen?

"Cullen?" She looked surprised to see him. His look of shock quickly turned to one of bitterness. "_You._" He gripped his sword, raising it slightly. She took a half step back. "Did you do this?"

"She is innocent, Commander Cullen," Cassandra's voice pulled him out of the spiral of rage and bitterness he was getting sucked into. "She is going to help us seal the Breach." Cullen stared at the woman for a long moment. She looked… different. Her once glowing cheeks were now hollow and sunken, and she was much thinner. Maker, was she starving? He was hungry, but she looked as if she hadn't eaten a proper meal for months. Her eyes, once so full of innocence, held nothing but pain and fear now. Her clothes were in tatters, more patches than original cloth. Her shining hair was now dull, and the silver pin was replaced with leather strings. Instead of lavender, she smelled of blood and wet stone. His anger vanished as quickly as it had overtaken him. Still, he couldn't let this go. "We will have words later." She simply nodded, looking down at her feet.

"You know each other?" Cassandra asked him. "I knew her a long time ago, but it doesn't matter now," Cullen waved off the question. "We can hold the courtyard for now, but not forever. Get in there and do what you have to do." Cassandra nodded, and off the two went, along with Solas and Varric, the dwarven rogue and close friend to the Champion of Kirkwall. Cullen turned back to the battlefield, rolled his shoulders, and prepared to fight for a little bit longer. It had to end eventually, right? Even he couldn't go on forever.

* * *

The Breach wasn't closed, but it had stopped growing, and demons were no longer pouring out, so Cullen considered it a victory. Still, he found himself unable to sleep. Rolling over in his bed, since Josephine insisted he sleep in a proper bed, even if it meant sharing a room with her and Cassandra, he was restless. Even with the screens set up for privacy between them, he could hear the other two snoring softly, and didn't want to disturb them. So he got up, put on a warm coat over his tunic and trousers, pulled on some fur lined boots, and took a walk.

His feet carried him to the cabin where Iris Amell lay in a coma. After closing the largest rift beneath the Breach, she had fallen unconscious. They were calling her a hero now, the Herald of Andraste. He wondered if he had been wrong, all of these years. He felt so confused.

He quietly pushed open the door to her small cabin, peering in the doorway. Solas, the elven apostate, sat in a chair next to the bed, frowning over some notes. He looked up at the sudden draft. "Ah, Commander." He closed his notebook. "What can I do for you?" Cullen didn't know quite what to say. He struggled to come up with something. "I couldn't sleep. How is she doing?" Fortunately, Solas didn't press him further. "She will live," the elf stated confidently. "She should wake in a few days, at most. Her body is merely exhausted and her mana has been drained completely. She just needs rest. I imagine she will be hungry when she wakes." A look of sympathy flitted across Solas's face. "Though I would also imagine she is no stranger to that."

Cullen's gut clenched. "On your way up to the Temple," he began, feeling clumsy about his words, "did she say anything? About why she was there, I mean." Solas nodded. "She believed that mages and Templars could work together, instead of one dominating the other. She wanted to express this to the Conclave." Cullen felt strange. He couldn't quite describe it, like he could breathe, but couldn't get enough air. "What do you mean?"

"She'd been living as an apostate long before the war started," Solas explained, "though we didn't have time to get much more detail than that. Apparently she spent a good amount of it helping Templars hunt maleficarum. Of course, it was only Templars whom she believed wouldn't turn and attack her as soon as the job was done, and there was no reward for her efforts because she was an apostate, but she wanted to prove that harmony was a possibility. That is the way she phrased it to us. Unfortunately, that sort of life was a harsh one, and she probably had to hunt for whatever she ate."

Cullen felt his heart drop into his stomach. He had been wrong. He had to talk to her, to ask her why she had ran all of those years ago at Kinloch Hold. So much didn't make sense. It was all so confusing. He approached the bed, standing by her feet. She looked so… frail. The candlelight played in the hollows of her cheeks, and danced along her delicate neck. The blankets covered her up to her chest, but her arms rested on top of them. Her fingers were still as slender and beautiful as he remembered, though her left hand now glowed with the eerie green light of the mark.

"Since you cannot rest, would you mind watching over her for a few hours so I might?" Solas asked, standing up. "I do not want her to be alone if she wakes. I don't expect her to, but if she does, will you let me know. I'd imagine the Seeker will want to know as well." Cullen nodded, "of course." He sat down in Solas's chair and watched the elf leave, his gaze going back to the woman slumbering next to him.

"Iris," he reached out and touched her hand. She didn't respond. Her hand was so cold. He withdrew, leaning back in the chair. He knew that back in his room he still had that journal, and somewhere in the middle was a blank page with a crumbling purple flower on it.


	3. Baby Steps

_Bang._

One hit with the hammer, the nail made a split in the wood of the Chantry door.

_Bang._

She was watching. Cullen could feel her eyes on his back. He focused on the nail so he wouldn't hit his thumb. His leather gloves would offer little protection from the hammer, should he miss.

_Bang._

The official notice of the Inquisition recruitment was nailed to the Chantry doors in Haven. Cullen brushed a splinter from his shoulder and turned around. Iris was at the edge of the crowd, looking awfully small. It had only been a week since she had woken, and Cassandra had declared the Inquisition reborn. Iris was eating regularly for the first time in a decade, and looked much less… what was a good word… dead. Much less dead than when she had first woken. Her cheekbones weren't quite so sharp, her hair wasn't quite so dull, and her clothes fit her a little better.

Cassandra had also ensured she had been given new clothes. The rags she had been wearing would do nothing to fend off the cold, so Cassandra had commissioned Harritt to make her warm, light armor. She smiled more, now that she wasn't starving or shaking like a leaf, and was quite popular among the residents of Haven.

Cullen hadn't said a word to her outside of the few war room meetings they had had so far, and even then, it wasn't much more than a curt greeting. Iris was mostly quiet during those meetings, though her presence was necessary as "The Herald of Andraste" and their only hope of sealing the Breach. Cullen felt a bit like an ass, but he still didn't know what to say to her.

And yet, as their eyes met across the courtyard, she smiled at him. How could she smile at him, after all this time, after everything they had been through? He did not smile back. He took the other path down towards the training yard, sighing to himself. He could not avoid her forever. He was being unfair to her, and to himself. He no longer believed that she was a maleficar, but he didn't know what to believe.

He should just ask her.

He didn't know how.

He put it out of his mind for the time being. He had new recruits to train. Green, farmer's sons whose older siblings had been Templars, or had family that were mages, family in the chantry, or just kids who wanted to make a difference. It didn't matter why they were there. What mattered was they didn't know which end of the sword was the sharp end.

"You there! There's a shield in your hand! Block with it! If that man were your enemy, you'd be dead." Maker's breath, these recruits were idiots. Cullen wondered if he had been like that when he first started his Templar training. Still, he would whip these men into shape. He had to. Thedas depended on it.

"Commander?" He nearly jumped out of his skin at the soft voice beside him. He looked down. "Ah, Herald, you startled me." He would at least call her by her title if she was going to confront him directly. It would help him keep his emotions in check. She had a few snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, and they dusted her hair. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze. "What can I do for you?"

"When you have a moment," had her voice always been so quiet? No, she used to be much more confident. "Might I have a word with you? I'd like to explain a few things." Well, he was going to have to work it out sooner or later. At least she had saved him from having to approach her. "Of course. Let me get these recruits started on some drills."

A few moments later, he was walking with her around the side of the frozen lake. The trees offered shelter from the frigid wind. The silence between them was tense. She was the first to break it. "I'll get right to it, I suppose," she mumbled, rubbing her cold nose on her sleeve in an effort to warm it. "I was never a blood mage, Cullen." Cullen ran his gloved hand through his hair, probably releasing a few unruly curls from the careful combing he gave them every morning. "I…" He wasn't quite sure what to say. He wanted to deny that he had ever thought that, but he wouldn't lie to her.

"I know you probably believed it, after I ran from the tower." She looked up at the sky. He watched the clouds of breath rise from her lips, paled by the cold. He asked her, "why did you run?" She laughed at him. She actually laughed. He scowled at first, but she shook her head and explained herself. "Cullen, I was alone, in the dark, listening to the echoing screams of mages and Templars alike being slaughtered by demons and maleficarum. I was terrified. I was a perfect target for those demons. If I had stayed in that tiny cell, I would have eventually become an abomination."

"No," he stopped walking, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You are so much stronger than that," he protested. "They wouldn't have broken you." She gave him a sad smile. "That is very kind of you to say, Cullen, but after three days of no one bringing me food or water, I was delirious and weak. I could not stay there longer and live." He let go of her, shaking his head, "why didn't you go to the Templars when you broke out?" She raised her eyebrow, "a mage breaking out of solitary confinement during an abomination and blood mage takeover? They would have killed me on sight. I had no choice, Cullen. I crawled out of one of the cave systems from the back of the storage cavern. I was just small enough to fit. After that, I knew I was an apostate, and they would kill me no matter my excuse, so I went to Denerim, used a sleeping spell on unsuspecting Templar guards, and destroyed my phylactery. It was so soon after my Harrowing that it hadn't actually been filed yet, so I didn't even have to break into the repository. After that, I was free, and I've been hunting the maleficarum that would see those horrors repeated ever since."

Cullen expected to be upset. He expected to feel a swirl of guilt and anger with himself, and perhaps upset with her as well, for never finding him. Instead, all he felt was relief. He let out a deep breath, and it felt like a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Cullen?" She broke him out of his euphoria. She looked nervous, as if she didn't know how to ask whatever it was that she wanted. She looked down at the ground, shifting on her feet. "Did you ever… That is… Was there anyone…" She puffed out her cheeks and looked around at anything and everything but him. Finally she asked, "did you keep it?"

He knew exactly what she meant. He smiled a bit, "I still have it." His ears burning, he cleared his throat. "We should be getting back. Unsupervised recruits are a danger to themselves and others if left for too long." She nodded, rubbing her arm. "Yes, I still need to talk to Solas about how we might seal the Breach. Thank you for walking with me, Commander."

"Anytime, Iris."

Maker's breath, she was beautiful.


	4. A Hairbrush

Iris left for the Hinterlands one morning. The war was intense there, and she, along with Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and Leliana's scouts, were going to try and do something about it. Cullen hadn't gotten much of a chance to spend time with her after their lakeside stroll, but things were much friendlier between them. He returned her passing smiles, and made an effort to include her in the war meetings. Her confidence was slowly returning. He wondered what had crushed it in the first place.

The recruits thought that they were ready to begin sparring with more than just each other, so Cullen and his lieutenants spent the day giving them solid thrashings. It was good to get back into training again, and even better to really put his nose to the grindstone. The euphoria of a good workout, without the drain of fighting for days on end, was good for him, especially while dealing with the beginning stages of lyrium withdrawal.

After training was over for the day, Cullen headed towards the tavern in hopes of a hot meal. He passed by Seggrit's cart along the way. The greasy merchant sold mostly weapons and such, occasionally some rarer crafting goods, but as Cullen was passing by, something new caught his eye. A hairbrush. It wasn't anything special, just a wooden brush dyed red with a golden lion delicately painted on the back. It sat in a worn-looking box.

"Ah, I see this little beauty has caught our esteemed Commander's eye," Seggrit was standing next to him in an instant, drawing him in. "Something for his golden curls, or perhaps a gift for a ladyfriend?" Cullen gulped, pondering. Maybe he shouldn't. She already had a brush anyway. "Oh, I was just looking." Seggrit waved his hand dismissively, "bah, nonsense, Commander, whatever lucky lady has caught your eye surely deserves better than the hoghair she probably has. I'll tell you what, you buy the brush for twenty silver, and I'll throw in a small bottle of hair oil, free of charge."

Cullen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Do you have lavender?" Seggrit grinned. "Today's your lucky day, Commander."

He held onto the brush for a while, fretting. The box sat on the nightstand next to his bed, the bottle of oil fitting perfectly next to the brush inside of it. After buying it, he kept wondering if she would even like it, or if it would look like he was coming on too strong. For all he knew, she resented him for thinking she was a maleficar all this time.

As he was thinking, he realized that even after all this time, buried under all the bitterness and guilt, he still held onto his puppy love. It would take some time to coax those feelings out into the open, but he supposed one step at a time wasn't such a horrible idea. The whole tear in the sky, world ending business would probably keep him from doing anything too foolish anyway.

He felt rather foolish, staring at that box long into the night, wringing his hands. She had been gone for a few weeks now, and according to Leliana's reports, things were going well. They had all but obliterated the rogue Templars, slaughtered the rebel mages hiding out in the hills that weren't part of the main rebellion, who were supposedly holed up in Redcliffe, and had cleared the East Road of Bandits. They would be back in Haven sometime the next afternoon, and the Inquisition would plan its next move.

"For what it's worth," Josephine spoke up from where she was, sitting on her bed reading a book, "I think you should give it to her." Cullen's face flushed bright red. "P-pardon?" Josephine smiled knowingly. "The brush. You bought it for Miss Amell, correct? I think she will like it, though I'm not sure why you chose a hairbrush, of all things. I suppose she does have lovely hair. A shame she has to keep it up all of the time. I saw her with it down once before she left. It's beautiful! I could never get my hair to grow that long, or that thick. I'm glad she got it healthy again, it's got such a lovely silky shine to it." Josephine smiled. "I'll have to ask her what she puts in it."

Cullen ran his fingers through his hair. "You think she'll like it?" Josephine nodded. "Without a doubt. And I'm certain she'll absolutely love the oil. She's probably tired of smelling like a battlefield." Cullen smiled to himself. "I'm sure she is. Thank you, Josephine." "Anytime."

He left the box on Iris's pillow the next morning. Being the bumbling fool he was, he forgot to leave a note, or any sort of indication that it was from him.

* * *

He was observing soldiers training when she rode in. Apparently, she still had that knack for friendship, because Horsemaster Dennet rode with her. It would be good to have someone like that working for the Inquisition. She rode rather lazily, swaying heavily with her horse, clearly tired, but she was smiling nonetheless as she conversed with Varric, who was no doubt spinning some wild story.

Her smile was enchanting.

Cullen raised his hand in greeting to them. Cassandra waved back, followed by the others. Iris dismounted first, wincing as she hit the ground, Cassandra seemed a little concerned, and handed off her horse rather quickly, rushing to the Herald's side. Iris waved her off, but there was a slight limp in her step.

"She took a hard shield bash from a particularly skilled Templar," Leliana startled the living daylights out of Cullen. "Maker, warn me when you sneak up like that." He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his gaze back to her. She was making her way to Haven's gates, probably ready for food and rest. "She probably just needs some rest," he said, more convincing himself than her. Leliana smiled knowingly. "I know. You just didn't look too convinced."

Cullen smiled a bit. "Is it that obvious?" "You bought her a hair brush, and the same oil she used to put in her hair when she was at Kinloch Hold. To me at least, it's obvious. As long as it doesn't get in the way of either of your duties, it's cute." Cullen blushed darkly. "I assure you, I'd never let anything like that get in the way of duty, but we're getting ahead of ourselves. I haven't seen her in nearly ten years and we've only just started talking again." Leliana smiled slyly. "Whatever you say, Commander. We'll have another meeting in the morning to discuss addressing the remaining clergy." Cullen nodded, "thank you for letting me know."

When he looked back towards Haven's gate, Iris was gone, already inside. Cullen desperately wanted to follow her, to see how she was doing, but he decided against it. He wasn't finished with work, after all. He still had soldiers to train.

* * *

That evening, he stopped one of the elves outside of her cabin that was carrying her supper. "I'll take it to her, thank you." The elf nodded and hurried off, probably having a number of other chores to complete before the day was done. Cullen knocked on the cabin door. "Come in!" Came the soft voice from the other side. He pushed open the heavy door, careful not to topple the tray of food in his hands, and nudged it closed with his foot behind him.

Iris was sitting in a chair by her nightstand, using the brush that he had gotten her to brush out her hair. The room smelled faintly of lavender. His heart soared, but it was then that he realized he was an idiot and had forgotten to leave anything stating it was a gift from him.

She looked up, her clear blue eyes meeting his. "Good evening, Cullen," she smiled warmly. "I do hope that's my supper you have, and you're not just here to eat in front of me." Her tone was teasing, and the corner of her lip pulled up into a slight smirk. He laughed a bit, "no, it's for you." He set it down on the desk beneath the window.

"Keep me company?" She asked, standing and approaching, her hair falling in silky waves over her shoulders. She looked much like herself again, and not the poor starving creature they had found stumbling out of the Fade. "Of course." How could he say no?

She pulled up a chair for him and sat down in front of her desk. She offered him half of her bread. "Oh," he shook his head, "thank you, but I'll eat later." In truth, his stomach was rumbling, but he couldn't bring himself to take food from her. She looked like she was about to insist when there was a quiet knock in the door. Looking confused, clearly not expecting anyone, Iris called out, "come in!" The elf from earlier entered with another tray of supper. "Herald, Commander, pardon the intrusion, I thought the Commander might like to take his supper here."

Thank the Maker, he was ravenous.

"Thank you," He leaned back so the elf could put the tray on the desk. The elf bowed his head and hurried off, and the two were alone once again. Cullen was more than happy to dig into his own supper. They ate in comfortable silence, both too hungry to bother conversing during the meal.

Cullen let out a loud burp once he finished. "Oh goodness, excuse me," he covered his mouth. Iris laughed behind her napkin, letting out a daintier burp. "Pardon me," she leaned back in her chair. "That was delicious. Much better than Cassandra's nug stew." Cullen groaned a bit, "oh, tell me you weren't subjected to that." "I was, but it was better than letting Varric cook." She began laughing, and she laughed harder and harder until she was laughing so hard tears came to her eyes. Finally, she told him why. "On the first night, we were sharing a ram we had caught with a group of refugees, and Varric- and he-" she snorted, laughing too hard to speak. "Oh, Maker, he burnt the steaks to a crisp! Cassandra was furious! I've never heard such colourful language that didn't involve any swearing!" She held her stomach, and Cullen couldn't help but to laugh along with her as she finished her tale. "But the best part! He tried roasting some wild apples we had found, but he forgot to poke holes in them, and one by one, they exploded! Maker, it went everywhere! The skin was hot, but the inside was still cold, so no one was burned, but-" she doubled over, her hair hanging in her face. "A piece hit Solas right in the face with the loudest wet splat sound! Oh," she sat up, making a face, "he was not amused!"

Cullen had his elbows on his knees, his face red from laughing. "That must have been a sight to see!" He managed to stop laughing just as she did, then made eye contact with her, and she started giggling all over again. It was contagious, of course, so he leaned back in his chair and laughed with one hand on his face and the other on his stomach.

Finally, they managed to get a hold of themselves. She took a few deep breaths, her cheeks flushed, wiping tears from her eyes. Cullen couldn't help but to think of how pretty she was in the candlelight with laughter about her. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, still grinning. "So did anything interesting happen here while we were gone?" "Nothing that funny, I assure you," he chuckled, leaning his elbow on the desk.

She got a coy little smile, resting her fingertips on her lips. "How much did Seggrit charge you for the brush? Way too much, probably." Cullen blushed, "pardon?" "It was from you, wasn't it?" Doubt flitted across her face. Cullen averted his gaze, hiding his smile behind his hand. "Yes, it was me. Do you like it?" "Oh, I adore it," she was grinning. "And the oil smells so nice! It's just like the oil I used to use at Kinloch Hold."

Cullen thought he might melt in his chair if he looked at her, so he stared at a notch in the desk. "I'm glad you like it," he was grinning like an idiot. "I almost didn't give it to you," he was rambling, and he knew it, but the words kept pouring out, "I was worried you might not want it, or that it would be too much, but I did anyway. I'm really glad you like it." She reached out and put her hand on his forearm, and his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. "I do. Thank you, Cullen." He glanced down at her hand, his eyes trailing up her arm, over her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, over her lips, her cheeks, and finally reaching her eyes. "You're welcome." He wanted to reach out and touch her face, to trace his thumb along her bottom lip and feel how soft it was. It looked soft. He wanted to touch his fingertips to her cheeks and pull her closer to him. He wanted to find out what her hair would feel like in his hands.

He did none of these things. He cleared his throat, "Maker, is it this late already? I should let you get some rest." He stood, but she didn't let go of his arm. She looked up at him with those pretty blue eyes. "It's not that late," she said shyly, "I really don't mind. I can always rest more tomorrow."

He almost gave in, but logic got the better of him, and he gave her a stern look. "We have a meeting in the morning. We have to decide how to address the Chantry clergy. You probably won't have time to rest." He expected her to look disappointed, but she just smiled at him and stood. "Alright, Commander Hardass," she teased. He scoffed, "I am not-" he cut off abruptly when she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Have a good evening, Cullen." He gulped, his heart pounding in his ears as she guided him to the door. "I- yes, have a good evening, Iris."

She stopped with her hand on the door. "Cullen?" She kept her eyes lowered. "Have you forgiven me? For running?"

Had he?

"Yes." He had. He let go of any last traces of resentment he had then. He was ready to mend things with her, no matter which direction they went. She smiled sweetly. "I'm glad." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before opening the door for him. "Goodnight." He gave her a little half smile that brought a blush to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. "Goodnight."

He walked through nighttime Haven, barely feeling the chill, a boyish smile on his face and his heart fluttering in his chest. It was easier to sleep that night, and the withdrawal nightmares weren't quite so intense. He felt better than he had in weeks, all because of her.

That overpriced hairbrush was worth every damn copper.


	5. The Details

Cullen didn't think a mage addressing the clergy was such a great idea, but as the Herald, Iris had to be the one to do it. Sending Cassandra along with her would probably make things go smoother, so that was the plan. In the meantime, Chancellor Roderick was stirring up trouble in Haven, so Cullen was staying to keep things under control. He stood in front of the Chantry doors, listening to the Chancellor yell his nonsense, and watched Iris walk down the path. His mind went back to his days in the tower, watching her walk, and he remembered the silver hairpiece she used to wear in her hair. Now, it was bound in leather. He wondered what happened to it.

The Chancellor eventually got tired and went on his way, and Cullen was free to go about his business. Not having any specific plans for the day, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He breathed deeply, taking in the smell of Haven. Woodfire and iron, and the faint tinge of blood. Ale and nug meat roasting, baking bread, pine sap and elfroot. These were the smells of Haven. He walked through slowly, his hands in his pockets, pondering the events of the past month or so. He stopped at the gates, looking out over the training yard. His officers had taken over training for the day. They seemed to be doing well enough.

He went back to his shared room, which was empty at the moment. He went into his personal chest at the foot of his bed, and dug out his personal journal. He opened to the purple hellebore flower Iris had given him all those years ago. A few pieces had since come off the edge of the petals, and the rich purple had faded, but it was still lovely. He flipped past it, past more entries, to the next blank page. He realized he hadn't written since arriving for the Conclave. He began to write.

_To put it simply, everything went wrong. The Conclave exploded, and nearly everyone there was killed by the blast. A massive Breach in the veil was torn. Iris was able to stop it from growing._

_Iris came back. She was never a blood mage._

_They're calling her the Herald of Andraste now. She's become one of the driving forces of this Inquisition. Though I was concerned at first, she has eased my fears, and I am relieved she is here. She has already made a massive impact in the war, and I believe it will soon draw to a close, one way or another. Logic dictates that she will side with the mages, but I am not sure. She and Cassandra have gone to Val Royeaux to address the Chantry, in hopes of not being called heretics. When they return, we will decide who to approach about the Breach._

_The recruits are coming along nicely. Though they are hardly ready to face demons, they're shaping up into a decent army, and we're only a month in. More flock to our banner every day. I have hope for this Inquisition, much more than I did when Cassandra first asked me to command its forces._

He took a moment to think. He figured he may as well write about the withdrawals. The symptoms were still minor, being only in the first month, but he might as well set up a timeline.

_It's been a month since I quit lyrium. The nightmares are the worst part. The headaches aren't terrible, and chewing elfroot helps. I know the worst is yet to come. I pray every day for the Maker's mercy. Cassandra still watches, and I believe she will hold to her vow that if I am no longer fit for duty, she will replace me._

He decided that was enough for one day. He blew on the ink to dry it, and put the book away. He laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts plagued by Iris Amell. Well, perhaps plagued isn't the right word. Filled by, graced by, for it was a pleasant experience for him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to think of her, as he had so long ago in that tower, when he was just a young man with an infatuation. He thought of her brushing her hair. He thought of the way she had caught his arm and asked him to stay a little longer. Maker, he was a fool, why hadn't he stayed?

He drifted off for an unintended nap. He was soon punished for it.

In his dream, he found himself in that wretched tower. Kneeling on the cold stone, slick with the blood of his fallen brothers in arms, his hands clasped together, pressed against his forehead, his lips fumbling over the words of the Chant of Light. The maddening hum of the barrier of the 'cage' they kept him in drowned out his murmurs. Iris, or rather, the demon wearing her face, knelt on the other side of the barrier, calling out to him, but he would not listen. "Cullen, my love, please, listen to me." It was just an illusion, just a demon. He would not break. No matter how much he wanted to, he would not break.

He got close a few times. It was all in the details. They got into the deepest parts of his mind, into his greatest desires, and they turned it against him, but every time, he had one way of knowing for sure it wasn't really her. The first time he got close to giving in, "Iris" was thrown in the cage with him, and begged him to save her. She crawled into his lap. See, the demons knew he wanted her more than anything. They knew what he loved about her.

They never thought to look for what he hated, and he hated that she had a small scar on her left cheek from the slap of a Templar's gauntlet when she had first arrived at the tower. She had stumbled and dropped her books in front of one of the crabbier Templars, and when she had reached for them a little too quickly, he had lashed out and hit her. He hated that scar, and when he thought about her wistfully, he imagined her without it. Apparently that had been a good thing, for it was his salvation.

The demons never had the scar, so he pushed them away.

More and more they tormented him. His friends, his family, even his childhood dog, and they always came back to her, just when they thought he might be close to breaking. One time they even sent her in her smallclothes, and Maker forgive him, he had reached for her, but when she had leaned in to kiss him, she had no scar on her cheek, so he turned her away.

Everytime he turned her away, he had to watch her "die" for her failure. It was just a demon, he knew, but it seemed so real. She begged him to save her, and a few times, to end her suffering. In the Tower, she always faded eventually, but in this twisted nightmare of reliving it, she just kept on screaming, and she had that scar on her left cheek.

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, and trembling violently. "Iris…" He put his hand over his mouth. He shook his head. "It was just a dream, Cullen. That was ten years ago. Those demons are long dead. Iris is on her way to Val Royeaux." He talked to himself, trying to slow his racing heart. The blankets of his bed were all torn up beneath him. He must have been thrashing all over the place.

He rose from his bed and went for his water skin that hung on the door, wetting his hands a little and running them over his face. He went to find Mother Giselle. At times like these, the best thing he could do was pray.

* * *

Iris and Cassandra returned from Val Royeaux three days later. Cullen was anxious by then, since it was only supposed to take them two. However, their prolonged absence was explained by the presence of First Enchanter Vivienne and a wild young elven woman named Sera. So Iris had made some more friends. Cullen was just relieved that they weren't hurt.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona has asked for a meeting in Redcliffe," Cassandra explained at the war table, her hands held behind her back. "I say we should at least hear her out. If we don't like what she has to say, we can still go to the Templars." Cullen rubbed his chin, frowning. "From what you said about Lord Seeker Lucius, I think now more than ever we should approach the Templars first. Something may be wrong. I hate to say it, but I am concerned about corruption." Cassandra pondered this for a brief moment, then nodded. "Leliana, have your people heard anything?"

"Actually," Leliana was frowning more than usual. "I haven't heard from them, which is most unsettling. Their last report was that something strange was going on with some of the officers, and they were going to try and investigate further. Then, nothing. If we're aiming to help one of the groups, I would go to the Templars first, just to find out what's going on. However, that isn't our goal. We're trying to seal the Breach. I think the mages stand a better chance."

"Sure, a better chance at tearing Iris apart," Cullen growled aggressively. The others looked surprised, and he quickly dialed back his tone. "We only have one mark. If we destroy it, we are lost. I remain firm on my stance, I know what the Templars can do. If we bring them to help us with this, they will succeed just as well as the mages, and I believe that the results will possibly be less disastrous. Pouring more magic in might cause another explosion, even if it does close the Breach. We should try suppressing it first."

Josephine added, "while we don't have enough sway just yet, the Templars will also be a more popular choice among the nobility of Thedas, and stand a better chance of smoothing the Chantry's ruffled feathers. If we are going to go after them, I could arrange a few dinner parties. I am aware of several families that are dying to meet you, Miss Amell, and they would be a great way to break the ice with the rest of the nobility. With them backing us, the Templars would have to hear us out."

"Would it not be a concern that our Herald is a mage?" Leliana asked. "The Templars might be a little suspicious of her." "Our Commander is a former Templar, and I was a Seeker," Cassandra answered. "It may raise some eyebrows, but it will be of little consequence. If anything, I worry more for her reaction than theirs."

The four sets of eyes turned to the quiet mage, whom had been watching the debate. She realized that they expected her opinion and cleared her throat. "On the way here," she began, "I spoke with First Enchanter Vivienne about the rebellion. We both agree that it was rash and foolish. As much as my heart aches for my fellow mages, I cannot agree with their actions, and I cannot say I am pleased with their blindness to the destruction in the wake of their violence. Fiona may be playing diplomat," Cullen was rather taken aback by the venom in her voice, "but they are sheltered, selfish, and arrogant. I have no doubt that once this is over, they will use the Inquisition to bolster their position in the war effort, beyond the use of just our influence. Perhaps they can help us, but I do not think it will be worth the price. Though it would be easier to approach them with Fiona's invitation, I believe pursuing the Templars to be the best course of action, and the safest. With the nobility backing us, and their duty to protect Thedas from calamities such as the very thing we are trying to deal with, I do not see how they can turn us away and remain true to who they are supposed to be."

Cullen was filled with pride. He had no idea she felt this way. He had been almost certain she would take the mages' side. He hadn't even considered that there were mages that didn't support the war. He certainly hadn't thought that the apostate was one of them. That, and the way she so eloquently put her position; he was absolutely floored. Josephine wrote down what she said. "Wonderfully put, Miss Amell. When you return from your next excursion to the Hinterlands, I will begin teaching you proper table manners for dining with nobility."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, "I wasn't aware you were returning to the Hinterlands so soon." Leliana spoke for her. "The Grey Wardens have disappeared entirely, except for one that we know of. Warden Blackwall has been located in the Hinterlands. The Herald is going to see if he knows anything about the others' disappearance. She shouldn't be gone more than a few days." Leliana sighed. "There is so much to do, and so little time." Josephine smiled. "Don't worry, Commander, you will be kept busy as well. You and I will also be expected to be at many of these dinner parties, and so will you, Cassandra. Perhaps not all of them, but most of them. Leliana, you probably won't have to worry about it, but since we are the face of the Inquisition, we should know which fork to use for each course."

Great. Table manners. Delightful.


	6. A Kiss

Cullen was sick of these wretched table manners. Why couldn't everyone just agree that a fork was a fork and get on with it? Why all the different sizes and orders and such? At least it was simple enough to work from the outside in (mostly), but why couldn't they just stick with one fork, or at the most, two? Why did it have to be five? Why three different glasses? It was ridiculous! And that Orlais and Ferelden had different dining etiquette, oh it was preposterous. Fortunately, Josephine was patient with him, and he wouldn't be alone in attending these dinners, nor would he be expected to lead, so he didn't have to memorize every little detail.

But poor Iris, she would. She would have to give toasts, and know all of these little details by heart.

Josephine was on her as soon as she returned from the Hinterlands. Cullen soon made friends with Warden Blackwall, whom had decided to join the Inquisition. Unfortunately, he knew nothing about the disappearance of the Wardens. Still, he was a veteran soldier and a good man to have around. After the first couple of days, he even stepped up and helped train some of the recruits. Cullen was ever grateful for that. He barely had time to breathe anymore. He certainly didn't have time to see Iris before she collapsed into bed every night. When she wasn't with Josephine, she was working with Solas, who was teaching her to better manipulate the Fade, or she was with Vivienne, discussing how they might handle the rebel mages once it came to that.

Finally, one evening, he got to see her.

Really, she came to see him. He was in the war room, sifting through some reports from Leliana, mumbling to himself and making mental notes, placing pieces on the map to be addressed at a later time, when the door cracked open. He looked up to see those blue eyes watching him from the doorway. A soft smile crossed his face. "Good evening," he greeted her, wondering if she was there on business or if he would actually get to just enjoy her presence. "Good evening, Cullen." The latter then. His heart leapt for joy.

She walked around the table, her fingers running along the edge. "What are you doing?" She asked, peering at the papers in his arms. "Just paperwork," he answered. "Reports from Leliana, things to be addressed at the next war meeting, that sort of thing." He set the stack of papers aside. They could be dealt with later. "You've been kept busy," he commented. She nodded, sighing softly. He could see the bags under her eyes. "Yes, though it will be worth it. We need everything to go smoothly." Her gaze travelled over the war table.

Cullen reached out and took her hand, feeling rather shy all of a sudden. He swallowed and mumbled, "it will." She smiled warmly, wrapping her small fingers around his hand, her thumb rubbing his knuckle. She laughed softly, out of nowhere, and said, "Josephine is going to teach me to do makeup tomorrow. I'm a little worried." Cullen wasn't quite sure what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that came to his frazzled mind. "You'll look beautiful either way."

Well, there were definitely worse things he could have said. He was rather pleased with himself, and judging by her bashful smile, she was too. "Thank you," she said, shuffling her foot around on the carpet. Maker, she was just as nervous as he was, he realized. That was comforting, in a way. It gave him confidence. Perhaps a little too much confidence, but he was okay with that. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he told her, just like he'd wanted to for over a decade now, ever since he had first laid eyes upon her in that tower.

She was red as a beet, and staring down at the carpet, her free hand covering her mouth. "You're too kind," she murmured, leaning on his arm a bit, her hand shifting in his to lace their fingers together. He was feeling awfully bold. "I'm serious," he brought his other hand to her cheek. It was just as soft as he had imagined. He gently lifted her face to look at him. Her eyes were wide, and her smile was one of enchantment. He cursed the fact that her hair was still up in a bun. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear, or run his fingers through it. Oh well, that could wait. He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

Part of his mind told him this was a bad idea. She was a mage, he was a former Templar, what would people think? She was the Herald of Andraste, and he was the Commander of the Inquisition's forces in her name. They were both so busy all the time, the threat of death was constant, people would talk, he couldn't give her what she deserved! Mages weren't allowed to marry. Maker, did he want to marry her? That was thinking way too far ahead, he hadn't even kissed her yet! She deserved a man with stability, a home, safety, and he could offer nothing but war at the moment. His mind quickly yanked him back to one particular thought in all the ruckus.

He hadn't kissed her yet.

He couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "may I kiss you?" He blushed darkly as soon as he said it, and looked away in embarrassment. "Ah, I mean, um, I shouldn't. Ignore that. Please. I-" She laughed at him, light as bells. "Cullen," she reached up and rested her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers cool against the heat of his skin. "Yes you may."

_Maker, forgive me_, he thought. _I do not deserve this blessing. _

He took her face in both hands and kissed her deeply, closing his eyes. The scent of lavender swirled in his mind. Her lips were so soft, and fit so wonderfully against his own. He felt almost relieved as his hands dropped to her waist, resting on her hips. Her arms snaked around his neck and rested on his shoulders, her body lightly pressing against his. Maker's_ breath_, that felt nice. The way her lips moved against his was absolutely sinful, but he didn't feel guilty at all. She chased all of that away as one hand delved through his blond curls, releasing them from their carefully combed positions. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her in that moment.

She broke the kiss, and he remembered that he needed to breathe. She was panting lightly, her lips parted slightly, the corners tugged upward in a devilish smile. This close to her face, he could see the faintest hints of freckles spattered across her nose and cheeks. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he murmured, and kissed her again. She giggled against his lips and returned the gesture, kissing him feverishly. He never wanted the moment to end. Apparently, by the gentle tugging of his hair, neither did she. If she kept doing that, she wouldn't be leaving with that perfect bun.

He gasped softly when he felt teeth against his bottom lip. He realized he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. She must have sensed his hesitation, because she brought her hands down from his hair and planted them firmly on his chest. He thought she was pushing him away, so he let her go. She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with some emotion he wasn't familiar with, though it made him feel very hot all of a sudden. She pushed him back against the wall and kissed him again, rougher this time. It simultaneously made him weak in the knees and made him want to tear her clothing right off of her.

He almost growled when there was a knock on the door. "Commander?" It was one of Leliana's runners, probably bringing him another report. Iris stepped away from him, winking at him. He could have cursed. He cleared his throat, picking up his stack of papers and making an effort to smooth his hair. "Yes, come in."

The runner came in, and he was indeed holding a small stack of papers. "Good evening, Herald," he greeted Iris, who nodded politely and returned the greeting. Cullen took the papers, "thank you." The runner quickly left, closing the door behind him.

"Damn it," Iris cursed quietly. Cullen smirked a bit, "disappointed?" He was surprised with himself; he wasn't one to tease, but she was driving him crazy. "Can you blame me?" She hugged him from behind, her hands sliding down his torso slowly. He tried his hardest to focus on the reports that had just been handed to him. "You're a cruel woman, Iris," he commented, cursing when his voice wavered.

"If I recall correctly, Commander, you kissed me first." She kissed his cheek and moved away from him, much to his disappointment. "I should get some rest; Solas wants me up early." Cullen caught her hand before she left. He kissed her fingers softly. "Goodnight Iris." He smiled at her. She reached out and brushed her fingers against his stubbly cheek. "Goodnight Cullen."

Then she was gone, and he was alone with a dumb grin on his face.


	7. Dinner Party

Cullen was, to say the least, uncomfortable. Dressed up in some ridiculous velvet concoction of Josephine's, he sat upright at an ornate table of some noble in Orlais, trying to figure out just how exactly he was supposed to eat the food set in front of him. From the smell coming from it, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Maker, were these _snails?_ He tried not to make a face as he brought the end of the curved shell to his lips.

At least they didn't taste as bad as they smelled. They were just a little salty.

"Is the escargot to your liking, Commander?" The daughter of the nobleman asked from across the table. She had been eyeing him through her intricate silver mask all night. Cullen knew better than to say no. "Yes, my lady," he dabbed his mouth with a napkin, hoping they wouldn't serve him more.

To his left sat Iris, and after her, at the head of the table, sat the lord, Comte Giroux, and his wife sat at the other end. Josephine sat across from Iris. The son and heir had not been able to join them that evening.

Comte Giroux was offering to support to the Inquisition in petitioning the Templars. This dinner was supposed to seal the deal, if it went well. So far it was going fine, but Cullen didn't quite like the way the daughter kept smiling at him, as if they were sharing a secret. Nobody had told him any secret.

The snails were soon whisked away by the servants, thank the Maker, and replaced with some sort of bread with stew spooned over it. Cullen rather enjoyed this dish, and had to put effort into not wolfing it down.

"Your Lordship," Iris began, "I would like to extend my personal thanks for your support in our petition to the Templar Order. Your support is invaluable to the Inquisition." The Comte nodded, "of course, Your Worship, this is a matter that cannot be ignored. The Templars have a duty to protect us from magical catastrophes such as this, and they should be made to perform their duty." It would seem that Josephine's lessons with Iris had paid off. She had been saying the right things all evening. Cullen had been mostly silent, unless spoken to, and Josephine had done the majority of the talking.

Occasionally, under the table, Iris's hand would drift over and rest on Cullen's knee. He found he rather liked that.

There was a break between supper and dessert, where they stepped out onto a balcony for a breath of fresh air. Cullen didn't quite understand what air had to do with dessert, but they were in Orlais and would play by the Orlesian's rules. Besides, it was a lovely night, and the garden below was rather pretty to look at. Iris seemed to enjoy it. She leaned on the balcony railing, dressed in the same uniform as he was, and gazed down at the flowers below, illuminated by the lamp posts lit over them.

Josephine had taught her to do makeup, and she wore it tonight. Her lips were a dark crimson, her cheekbones had more definition, and her eyes were lightly shadowed. Cullen had been awe-struck the first time he had seen her with it, and he was awe-struck now. He approached her to speak to her, but the daughter of the Comte practically jumped in front of him. "Commander Cullen, would you care for a walk in the garden?" Maker's breath, no, not with her, but he couldn't refuse. He caught Iris's look of amusement as he nodded politely. "As you wish, my lady." He offered his arm to the young woman. She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and led him down off the balcony and through the garden path. Cullen wished he were walking with Iris.

"They call you the Lion of Ferelden," the lady said, practically hugging his arm. Cullen kept his eyes on the path ahead. "I have heard that." "It's a fitting title, Commander. Do you disagree?" Cullen's mind was on the dessert at that point. If he had heard correctly, they were having cheesecake. "I'm a human, not a lion." The lady laughed, tossing her head back. Was she wearing bells in her hair? The things these Orlesians came up with.

"Are you married, Commander?" He should have seen this coming. He considered telling her yes, so she would leave him be, but she would find out he was lying, and he didn't want to deal with that mess. "No, my lady." She squeezed his arm. He cleared his throat, "we should head back, my lady, dessert is waiting."

"I'm sure it can wait a few more minutes, Commander." She was leaning on him. Maker's breath, he was uncomfortable. He didn't want to be rude, but he did not like this. Not only that, but they were no longer in sight of the balcony, having gone behind a row of hedges. Cullen ran his free hand under his collar, gulping. He wanted to leave.

"Commander?" Thank the Maker, it was Josephine. "Ah, there you are. Lady Giroux, your mother is looking for you. Something about a dropped bell." Cullen could see the lady's disappointment. She curtsied to Cullen and hurried off. Josephine watched her go and turned to Cullen with a sly smile. "I thought you might need a rescue." "Thank you," he was sincere. He followed her back to the balcony. Iris stood on it, looking down at them, the light of the dining room behind her illuminating her. Maker's breath, she was beautiful. Cullen found himself with a smile on his face. "There you are," she called down. "I was wondering where you had gotten off to."

He ascended the balcony's stairs and stood beside her, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers gently. She smiled at him. "It's time for dessert, Commander." He winked at her, "I'd much rather have you." She grinned and looked away, blushing furiously. Cullen was quite proud of himself.

"Are you two coming or not?" Josephine tapped her foot by the door. "Yes, sorry," Cullen cleared his throat, remembering they were not alone. "After you, Your Worship." He followed the two women inside. He wasn't one for dinner parties, but at least he had her.

And cheesecake. He liked cheesecake.


	8. Author's Note

I know I havent updated in a long time, I'm sorry! I promise I haven't abandoned this story. Work has just been taking over my life, and I'm planning a big move soon, and I haven't had a whole lot of time to myself. I'll get back to it soon, I promise. Thanks for all the support!


	9. Instinct

Cullen's hand rested uneasily on the hilt of his sword as he looked up at the walls of Therinfal Redoubt. Something was wrong here. He wasn't quite sure why he had a knot in his stomach, but it was there, and he couldn't ignore his instincts. He looked over his shoulder at Iris, who was talking with one of the noblemen, Lord Abernache. He was worried for her, feeling as if he were sending a lamb into a den of wolves. He shook his head. He had to remember she wasn't defenseless, and she had plenty of protection. Cassandra, Blackwall, Varric, and Cullen himself were there to back her up, should anything go awry. Cullen prayed it wouldn't come to that.

The portcullis opened, the chains rattling and groaning, their age showing as they struggled; Therinfal Redoubt was practically a ruin. What was the Order doing in a place like this? Knight-Templar Barris emerged from the entryway. He nodded his head in greeting. "Knight-Captain Rutherford, I wasn't aware you were accompanying the Herald." Cullen frowned. "That is not my title any longer. I am Commander of the Inquisition's forces." Ser Barris lowered his gaze. "My apologies."

Cullen waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine. Allow me to introduce the Herald of Andraste, Iris Amell." Iris approached, her head held high, shoulders back, just as Josephine had shown her. She was the picture of grace. Cullen saw a bit of Vivienne in her movements. "A pleasure, my Lady." Ser Barris bowed slightly. Iris bowed her head. "Ser Barris, it is an honour."

They made their way into the main courtyard, where Ser Barris stopped them. "My Lady, before we proceed further, there is a ritual that we ask all Templars are required to do. Three flags are before you: Andraste's, the Templars', and that of the people. Raise them in order of importance to you." Iris raised an eyebrow. "I am quite the opposite of a Templar. Why are you asking me to do this?" Ser Barris frowned slightly, but otherwise kept his composure. "You are the Herald of Andraste. Many are interested in your answer. You can refuse if you would like."

Iris shook her head. "No, I will do this." She approached the flags, and Cullen found himself wondering what she would do. He knew what he would do. He would raise Andraste's flag the highest, of course, then the people. The Templars existed to serve them both.

Iris's opinion differed, as he soon found out. She raised the people the highest, then the Templars. Cullen was a little shocked to see Andraste's flag left on the bottom. He remembered that Iris had never been particularly pious, but she had prayed like any good Andrastian, going to the services in the tower. Clearly others shared his shock. There were murmurs around them. Ser Barris cleared his throat. "May I ask you to explain your decisions?"

Iris nodded. "Of course. The people will always come first. They are everything, and everyone. We all exist to protect them. The Templars are here to do that. Andraste was here to do that, but she is no longer. We must focus on the present, on what we can do in the here and now."

Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat.

They followed Barris into the meeting room, leaving the majority of the nobles in the courtyard, with the exception of Lord Abernache. Knight-Captain Denam waited for them, his arms crossed. Cullen couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was off about him. Something was off about all of the Templars in the room. Cullen resisted the urge to stand closer to Iris. He didn't like this situation.

"So this is the great alliance the Inquisition offers?" Even the Knight-Captain's voice was strange. It was as if he was almost choking. Iris clearly sensed that something was wrong as well. "Step back, Abernache," she murmured. The Knight-Captain drew his sword, and the Templars attacked. Barris cried out in shock and defended the Inquisition. Cullen stepped between Iris and Denam, his shield taking the blow meant for her, rage burning in his heart. He struck the Knight-Captain harshly on the head with the pommel of his sword, then bashed his face with his shield. Denam stumbled back, then crumpled to the ground with a shock of lightning from Iris's staff.

Cullen turned to join the fight against the rest of the Templars. Up close, he could see the red haze around them, and hear the maddening song emitting from them. What in the name of the Maker was wrong with them? What had they done?

The battle was soon over. Cullen turned on Barris, who was kneeling over Denam. "What was that? Did you set us up?" Barris looked up, eyes wide. "No Ser! I swear, I knew nothing about this! A lot of the higher ups have been acting strange for weeks now." He looked back down at Denam. "He's unconscious but alive." "Good," Iris stated. "He can be judged properly. We'll take him to Haven."

"There's more fighting outside!" Lord Abernache, whom had been cowering in a corner, wailed. "Do something!" Cassandra rolled her shoulders, practically growling out, "we must reach the Lord Seeker." Iris nodded in agreement.

They fought their way through the keep, which had devolved into chaos. Corrupted Templars fought those whom hadn't been tainted by whatever made the corrupted ones sing with the sick music. It made Cullen's head spin. He felt dizzy, and by the time they reached the steps leading up to the main hall, he felt like he might be sick. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "Cullen," Iris's sweet voice grounded him. "Stay with me, alright?" He nodded, rubbing his hand over his face. "I think they're using the red lyrium."

"Well shit." Varric grunted. "That's really bad."

"Lord Seeker!" Cassandra shouted, looking up at the top of the stone staircase where the Lord Seeker stood. Iris approached him. Cullen frowned; everything was off here, but something was really wrong with the Lord Seeker. Cullen didn't have time to call out to her when he saw the Lord Seeker jump at her. He brandished his sword and charged at them, his heart pounding when he saw the look of horror on her face. He had barely crossed two steps when the Lord Seeker turned into a pillar of smoke and fled through the doors of the great hall. Iris fell to her knees.

"Iris!" Cullen was at her side in an instant. "What happened? Are you alright? What was that?" "An envy demon," Cassandra stated. "Did it get to you?" Iris shook her head. "No, I'm fine." She pushed Cullen away, using her staff as a crutch to pull herself to her feet. "Someone helped me."

"We have to get to that demon," Ser Barris drew their attention towards the Great Hall. "The other Templars don't stand a chance if we don't! We can't break down this barrier on our own, but there are some veteran Templars who might be able to, if they still live. Can you find them? We'll also need lyrium, clean lyrium. We can hold the hall, but not for long. You must hurry!"

Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat.

Iris nodded. "Do what you can, Ser Barris. We'll be back as fast as we are able. Cassandra, Blackwall," she turned to them. "Will you stay and help defend the hall?" Cullen frowned, "surely it would be better if they came with us?" "And leave the Templars to be slaughtered? The keep is overrun, Commander. I would not leave them to their fate. If two veteran warriors can make a difference, I would have them stay." Blackwall nodded in agreement. "As you wish." Cassandra agreed as well. "Do not fret, Commander, the Herald is more than capable, and between you and Varric, I have no doubt she will be safe. Besides, most of the fighting will be here. She is right."

Cullen reluctantly agreed. They headed out, into a courtyard crawling with red Templars. "Stay back," Iris ordered, raising her staff. A storm of lightning filled the courtyard, scorching the ground and the Templars with it. It didn't last long, of course; no magic of that magnitude was easily sustained, but it wiped out most of the red Templars in the courtyard. Cullen saw the fury in Iris's eyes and for a moment, he had to fight the urge to shy away, or to use a mana drain.

Old habits die hard.

Varric easily took care of the stragglers. They didn't have much time, so they ran through the courtyard, to the offices on the other side. There, they found a Lieutenant fighting for his life against the red Templars. Once he was safe, they searched the premises and found clean lyrium, along with signs of a plot to assassinate the empress.

They managed to find three of the higher ranking Templars that hadn't been corrupted. Barris had managed to hold the great hall, but just barely. They were all exhausted, but the fighting wasn't over yet. Between that, the sickening hum of the red lyrium, and the realization that Iris wasn't the delicate, sweet woman he envisioned her as, Cullen's head was spinning.

While the Templars worked to bring down the barrier, the Inquisition members fought to keep the red Templars off of them. Cullen blindly cut through the beasts in front of him, once good men and women whom had devoted their lives to the safety of the people. What had become of them? He watched Iris cut them down out of the corner of his eye, her face showing nothing but the cold creases of determination. Blood splattered her clothing, and sweat dripped down her face as she fought. Cullen raised his shield to deflect a blow from a great brute of a monster. The red lyrium had twisted their corrupted bodies into something unrecognizable. These people had families that would never know what had happened to them. There was nothing left of them now, only madness.

The very thought weighed heavily on Cullen's shoulders, but he soldiered on, holding the great hall even when Iris took the others to battle the envy demon. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the surviving Templars, battling on, exhaustion dogging his every move. Still, he would not fail them. He would not fail her. He knew he needed to have a talk with Iris, a real talk; he would live in a fantasy world where she was a porcelain doll no longer. He wanted to know everything.

They both had to survive this first, and he was determined to see that at least a few members of the Order did as well.

* * *

AN: Sorry for the rushed chapter guys, it's hard to get through that questline without spending an excessive amount of time on it, and my own exhaustion is an uphill battle as well, but it's been a while since I've updated and I wanted to post something. The next one will be more in depth. Thank you all for your support!


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